


Blue as Your Blood

by SubwayWolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Civil War, Alternate Universe - Western, Anal Sex, First Meetings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rough Kissing, period-typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: In search of power and more, Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada become unlikely partners in a town where they are both outliers, two sides of a coin brought together by one Jack Morrison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this used to be a bad and unfinished house of cards au but i re-wrote it and now it's overwatch, you're welcome
> 
> i doubt i'm the first mchanzo western au writer and i doubt i'll be the last, but i hope you guys get a kick out of this and enjoy it! let me know what you think if you feel like leaving comments. much love to everyone who reads this <3

It had been years since the war was on, but everyone in the country remembered it like it happened yesterday.

Hanzo was an exception. He drank through the war and didn’t remember much of it. But he did remember meeting two rebel soldiers at an empty tavern in a tavern on the Illinois-Kentucky border, men who would change his life; though he had no clue at the time. 

If he had known what Jack Morrison would do for him in the time that followed, Hanzo definitely would never have pulled a gun on the man.

Hanzo was on his third pint when Jack walked through the door. There was nobody in the place; even the bartender had stepped out. And now that the run-down bar had become a veritable dueling ground, nobody would dare step in.

As soon as Hanzo saw the grey uniform and the military badges and patches, he had his pistol out before the intruder could blink. The rush made his head spin, or maybe it was the booze – and it took him a moment to realize that the gentleman had his pistol out, too.

At first, not a word was spoken. They just stared. They measured each other out before saying a word. But neither pulled the trigger.

Pitifully near-sighted, Hanzo could barely make out the patch on the man’s chest which read, _Morrison_.  
In all honesty, Hanzo should have been at his post right now. He had snuck off to drink like some irresponsible deserter, not like he wanted to be in this war, or this country, anyway. If he had any luck, this would turn out with no shots fired. But Hanzo was not a lucky man.

He was about to ask Morrison to get out and be on his way, but the Southerner opened his mouth to plead his case. 

“Good morning,” he said. The smirk on his face seemed misplaced for a man who had a gun pointing at him. “I would call this a damn fine case of reading a book by its cover.” 

He left room for Hanzo to respond, but Hanzo was trying to be alert, to see past his drunkenness and gauge if he could make the shot or not. Morrison was about fifteen feet away, and Hanzo wasn’t as drunk as he could have been, but things were still blurry…

Morrison continued to try and talk his way out of this. “I have no intention to hurt you. I know you have little reason to believe me, given that I’m a stranger. But I don’t have to be.”

Hanzo’s focus broke. He assumed he must have been dealing with some psychopath. His muscles tensed up even more.

The soldier was smart enough not to move or flinch, but he seemed weirdly relaxed. “I know I’m wearing the Confederate colors. Think I have a say in the matter? Slavery is an asinine cause to fight for, but my state is sovereign now. I have no choice but to take up arms for it.”

Hanzo wasn’t impressed and didn’t buy the excuse. He somehow figured entertaining this man’s confidence was his best bet at surviving. “Want a pat on the back for your nobility?” he asked, hoping his slurred words didn’t give his drunkenness away.

Morrison wasn’t offended. “No, just for my bravery. And yours.”

There were a lot of ways Hanzo was feeling at that moment, but brave wasn’t one of them. He almost lowered his gun. “What?”

“This gun isn’t loaded.” He loosened the barrel to prove it; it was empty. “And you’re drunk. So it seems that the odds are dead even.”

He was right. Hanzo didn’t like even odds, and neither did Morrison, it seemed. He knew that he didn’t want to die in this bar. Americans were brave, which meant they were stupid. But this man was no ordinary American, that was for sure.

Maybe it was because of the buzz, but Hanzo couldn’t stand to keep this tension up any longer. He put his gun down onto the table. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to be alone.” 

There was a long moment of quiet. Hanzo hunched back over in his seat. He wished the bartender would come back. The soldier was probably stunned. But when Hanzo looked up at him, he saw the man was smiling. 

Morrison gestured across the room. “McCree, you can come out now. We don’t have anything to fear from this man.”

Hearing the footsteps approaching, Hanzo moved for his gun again. But he turned and saw a boy no older than twenty, thin and handsome, and he figured he had nothing to fear.

As McCree went dutifully to his side, Morrison explained the plain. “I was going to have him come out and stab you through the neck with a bayonet. It was going to be messy and dramatic. But you seem like a good man. I’m glad there’s no need for bloodshed.”

Hanzo was glad for that, too. 

When Morrison took a step forward towards Hanzo’s table, McCree followed, and Hanzo didn’t flinch. “My name is Colonel Jack Morrison,” the soldier introduced himself. “May we have a seat?”

Peeved, Hanzo allowed them to sit. Being threatened with a gun was bad. Having to make conversation with a stranger was somehow worse. “Hanzo Shimada. Captain.” He tended to forget to give his title. Clearly the war did not mean much to him.

Jack folded his arms and leaned forward across the table. “What do you do, Mr. Shimada? Before they put a gun in your hands and told you to where to shoot, I mean.”

There was no point in lying, Hanzo supposed. “I made my way here from Japan when I was a boy. Until recently, I was a private investigator, downtown Chicago.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Very interesting. Were you any good?”

Hanzo told the truth. “The best. Not as if that’s anything to brag about.” He looked to his glass; it was empty. “The police are completely corrupt, bought out by criminals and smugglers and the like.”

“How awful,” Jack agreed, encouraging him to continue.

Hanzo’s eyes trailed to the back of the room. He didn’t like eye contact very much. “The mayor – I’m the reason he’s mayor. I helped convict his predecessor of corruption. He was guilty, but the new man isn’t much better. He rewarded me by giving me the title of Captain and sending me off to die in a war I have no interest in.” He gestured to the empty bar around them. “So here I am.”

“You shifted the political landscape, Captain Shimada?” Jack glanced sideways at McCree, who was sitting with his hands on his lap, patiently, unsure how to read the glance. “That sounds like a skill I could make use of.”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

The gleam in Jack’ eyes was one of dull ambition, of confidence. “Listen carefully. McCree and I were sent out to clear this place of Yanks like you before the rest of our brigade arrives.”

Clearly, Hanzo had been right to be apprehensive. He tensed up immediately.

“What I mean to say, is that there’s a full battalion of Confederate soldiers on their way here. They should arrive in under ten minutes.” Morrison was stupidly calm about this, and Hanzo wanted to wring his damn neck. “Now, I suppose you can stay here and fight, but you’ll have so many holes in you by the end of it that you can see the sun shining through, so I’ll advise you against that.”

There had to be a third option, or else Jack wouldn’t be telling him this. “What’s the alternative?” Hanzo prepared for the worst.

Jack stood from his seat at the table. McCree rose dutifully beside him. Jack held out his hand and beckoned for Hanzo to raise as well. “Come with us.”

Hanzo did not move from his seat. This was ridiculous. “You want me to be a deserter?”

The bar was deserted. Jack gestured around to its empty walls. “Who’s going to come looking for you? Nobody seems to care that you’re away from your post right now.” He was smart, and he was right. “Men die every minute in this war. The higher-ups in command, they always have a bright-eyed boy to take a corpse’s place. I promise, one will take yours, just like one will take mine, and Jesse’s.”

This was not only stupidly fast, but also completely unbelievable. He figured they had no point in lying to each other, no matter that they were wearing different colors. 

Jack paced to the other side of the table, so he was closer to Hanzo. “Overwatch has been looking far and wide for a partner like you.” The desire in his voice was present and thick, or maybe it was just his Northern accent.

Overwatch? Hanzo stood from his seat. He wasn’t willing to leave just yet. “You barely know me,” he protested.

Jack stayed calm. “I’m a good judge of character.”

McCree finally butted in, looking at Jack with loyal affection. “The best I know.”

“I know it’s not noble to abandon a cause, whether it’s a winning or losing one.” Morrison took another step closer to Hanzo. He lowered his voice for no reason at all. “But it is noble to start up a cause of our own.”

Hanzo did not back away from him. “You have some sort of plan?” His stomach felt tight with worry.

There was no trace of a smile on Jack’ face or in his voice. “A master plan.” 

He was serious. Dead serious. Hanzo studied him carefully. Jack Morrison was close, smelling like Carolina tobacco, the underarms of his uniform damp with sweat, the top of it unbuttoned just a bit to show the white skin of his chest. He was close, and he was here. The opportunity was as real as the heat of his breath.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it once you meet me at the county line.” Jack gestured to his second, McCree, and they turned around back to the front of the tavern, leaving to go mount their horses. “It’s a long ride to Texas, Mr. Shimada. We would love to spend time on the trail with you.” 

Hanzo thought of Jack’s million dollar smile and how he was smarter than he looked. He thought of what the plan might be. He thought about what the South might be like. He thought about being in this mysterious two-man organization called Overwatch, and his heart kicked up in speed.

Jack paused for half a second, turning over his shoulder once more before leaving. “Come with us.” He followed McCree out the door.

An order. That made Hanzo’s stomach turn, but then it felt right. He felt like he had a place, suddenly. Something about the way Jack spoke, the way he made Hanzo feel… this was new. This was different. This sensation was one alcohol could never give him.

So he followed, and neither of them ever looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flash-forward from last chapter :)

On the night they first met, Jesse McCree did not know very much about Hanzo Shimada. That was unusual, because Jesse knew things about everyone.

Being the owner and manager of the town’s only half-decent tavern and inn, Jesse knew information about each and every patron who walked through his doors. He had built up quite the information base over the years. A lot of it came from having a keen ear for whispers spewed both by patrons in the back tables and blind-drunk regulars up front at the bar. Jesse had keen eyes as well, a knack for being observant, and a well-built skill for reading people just from a single glance. 

It had built him a reputation in town, not just as the competent owner of Denton’s least mediocre watering hole and motel, but as an information broker. Jesse was smart, unlike the great majority of people around town and in Texas in general, so he only shared his information with those who he deemed suitable.

Right now, there was only one worthy man in town: Jack Morrison.

Jack had always been the hardest customer to read. He looked and acted dirt-poor yet paid for his drinks and boarding, never late on a single tab. Jack frequented the local, high-end brothel, too, and he was extremely well-antiquated with the brothel's owner, Ana Amari – the walls were thin here, and Jesse’s own room wasn’t as far down from his customers’ as he’d have liked. Jack had his hands in politics and business alike, so Jesse knew his help was not going to waste. Morrison was efficient with his calculated moves and did not let a single word of info go to waste.

Not only was he generally good company and the only person Jesse could match wits with in all of Texas, but Morrison was good to him as well. He directed lots of people Jesse’s way, people who dressed well, which meant they tipped well, too. He often sent the brothel's bouncer, Ana's daughter, Pharah out, armed, to ensure safe passage of the food and ale being carried in – robberies were frequent on trade routes, and the local government and law enforcement weren’t doing shit to change that. 

Morrison paid Jesse cold hard cash for the information trade, too, so that was nice, but it wasn’t money Jesse got satisfaction from. It was being part of the inner circle of the master plan Jack no doubt had, hidden up his sleeves like he was cheating at poker. 

Though he kept Jesse in the loop, Morrison didn’t let him know everything. He couldn’t be blamed for that; Jesse wouldn’t trust a man like himself, either. Still, this left Jesse sidelined, desperate to peek in. It gave him a good lesson in not letting his interest in gossip get the better of him. He kept in his place and never pried.

For a man he had known for several years, Morrison did not say much about Hanzo Shimada. They had met a while past, during the War, and they had travelled down to Texas together, mostly in silence. Jesse knew that Hanzo ranked Captain, that he was from Japan and then Illinois, and that he didn’t drink. That was it. He might as well know nothing. Whether that was because Hanzo was boring or because he needed to be protected, Jesse made sure to find out.

The main floor was mostly clear when Hanzo arrived at noon. The other customers were seated at tables around the room, but Hanzo walked in and sat in the line of bar stools, on the last seat at the end.

He had barely noticed him entering. The man was as quiet as the breeze. 

Before greeting him, Jesse observed him. Hanzo had a black cowboy hat on, likely provided by Morrison to help him fit in, but Jesse could easily observe from the fabric and patchwork of his cotton clothing that Hanzo was from the North. That, he already knew. Hanzo lifted his head to survey the number of strangers in the room, but Jesse could hardly see his face.

Jesse was cleaning glasses at the other end of the wide, flat horseshoe-shaped bar. He finished up and moved over to the opposite end, hoping to catch Hanzo’s eye. “Can I get you something, handsome?”

Hanzo didn’t soften. “Something to eat,” he muttered. He had a soft voice, but not a kind one; one that belonged to a cursed spirit long dead. “Doesn’t matter what.”

Turning to face the open window in the wall leading into the kitchen, Jesse called over his shoulder to his only other employee, fry cook Mako Rutledge. “Hear that, Mako? Something good and hot for our mutual friend of Mister Morrison.”

Mako was leaning out of the open panel, only his upper half visible over the half-wall. “One fresh plate of doesn’t-matter-what, coming right up.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

When Jesse looked back, Hanzo’s face was still shadowed under the brim of his hat. His eyes barely showed. “You remember me?” he demanded. It had been a long time since they’d made the journey, and they’d barely seen each other since.

“I remember everything,” Jesse bragged. “How about a drink?”

“Water.”

No fun at all. Alcohol was often Jesse’s greatest weapon here in the information trade. It was far easier make people talk when their tongues were loose and their heads were spinning.

Hanzo was keeping his head on his shoulders, though. For now. He was smart. Jesse respected it.

Mako rang the bell not long later to signal that the food was ready. Jesse retrieved it, mildly concerned when he couldn’t recognize exactly what kind of sandwich he was seeing and smelling, but when he placed it in front of Hanzo, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Jesse gave him time to eat, which really meant time for Jesse to finish up with the other customers and observe Hanzo from afar. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but something about Shimada was intriguing him. The gears in his head were turning, slowly. 

Soon enough, they were alone in the front room, Hanzo sitting in silence and Mako taking his fifth break of the hour out back, smoking.

Getting Hanzo talking was the next step. And the best way to get a man talking when they didn’t want to talk, was to talk about yourself.

Jesse was at the other end of the bar putting dishes away. “Once, I dueled a man, right in the back alley behind this bar,” he began with a smile.

Shimada barely looked up from his drink. “You’re full of shit.”

That was true, but not in this case. Jesse had never been called out on it before this quickly. He was impressed, but hid it well. “Not at all,” he lied.

Hanzo was not impressed or convinced. “Let me guess. You’ve got scars to prove it.”

“Not from the duel, because I won.” Jesse gave a little bow. “Obviously.” He was displeased when he saw Hanzo still stone-faced and bored. Peeved, Jesse made his way down to where he was sitting. “But I have other scars, if you want to see them.”

Two steps back; Hanzo stopped with the eye contact, now. “Morrison assured me that I could come here to drink in peace and quiet.” He sighed afterwards to make his disdain for conversation clear.

Jesse made a face at him. “You seriously don’t want to hear the story?” Nobody had turned down hearing about the Reyes versus McCree duel before. Some people in town had heard it half a dozen times and asked for retellings when they got drunk and bored enough.

“I bet you tell a lot of stories.” Hanzo paused to sip at his water, which was running warm. He placed the mug down at looked at Jesse with a look that read as unimpressed. “I doubt any of them are true.”

Jesse glowered down at him. “All of them are true.” More bullshit. But how could Hanzo have known either way? Was he really that smart? “You’re missing out, Shimada. It’s a good story.”

Hanzo shrugged him off. “Save it. The only reason you’re telling me this shit is to keep me around so I buy more drinks.”

“You don’t drink. Not the alcohol, anyway. I’m barely making a dime off of you.”

“From what I’ve heard, the swill you serve isn’t worth a dime anyway.”

Unbelievable. Jesse did not appreciate being told off like this at his own establishment. He’d dealt with back talk before, but from disorderly drunk patrons, ones he had no trouble muscling out the front door if he needed to. Hanzo wasn’t being disorderly. He wasn’t even being dishonest. 

There was no rational reason to be upset. Jesse kept cool. He read Hanzo’s body language. Shimada wasn’t tense. He wasn’t trying to be combative. His voice was soft, and everything about him was even-tempered except for his words. This guy wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t looking to pick a fight. He was sad.

Jesse poured himself a shot of dark rye whiskey. He usually never tapped his own wares, especially not the good stuff, but he got a feeling that tonight was going to be special. 

Hanzo looked at him, through the shadow across his face. He did not watch with envy or disgust. Maybe he was matching interest. For the first time, Jesse couldn’t quite tell.

Jesse downed the shot all at once, tossing it down his throat like an afterthought. It burned well, like fire. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, recovering from the sting. “Booze is safer to drink around here than the water, you know,” he said through his teeth.

Shimada did not buy the attempt to be genuine. “I’ll take the risk.” 

Jesse opened his eyes again, to no end – he was still not being looked at. “It’s true,” he pressed. “You should take my advice. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He plugged the cork back in the bottle but kept his fingers curled around the neck. “I like you too much,” he added, half-sarcastic.

“I doubt that.” The answer was quiet, sad.

Even without empathy, Jesse knew he had to do something. He leaned over the bar, smiling cordially. When Hanzo did not react, Jesse reached his hand out and tipped the front of Hanzo’s hat upwards, to get a peek at the whole of him. Hanzo looked right at him, startled at the intrusion, and Jesse let his fingers fall. Just a little tease; that’s all it took sometimes. 

The second Jesse trailed his hand away, Hanzo was adjusting the hat back onto his head. “Don’t you have a bar to clean? Or someplace else to be?”

Jesse found himself smiling a little wider. “You sure have a lot of ways to tell someone you don’t want to talk to them.”

“And I’ll bet that you’re prepared to force me to exhaust all of them.”

Jesse was amused and remained impressed. He kept the smirk on his face. “How about you tell a story, Shimada? Tell me how you got that stick so far up your ass.”

A long moment of quiet followed. Jesse would wait this one out, he wasn’t going to lose ground. He stayed right there, close enough to touch him again, close enough to feel how warm he was, even with afternoon spring sun outside, the man had a particular heat about him. Hanzo wasn’t a ghost as he seemed to be, he was present and alive, and a finger’s reach away. 

Hanzo reached up and removed his hat, finally revealing himself. Finally, Jesse was able to notice something he did not know before. Of the little Jack had said, he hadn’t told him Hanzo was beautiful. This was by no means relevant information in the grand scheme of things. But it was certainly relevant to Jesse’s personal interests.

Finally, Hanzo looked up at him, right in the eyes. His irises were so dark, they were almost black. Jesse’s heart leapt and quickened, galloped away.

Perhaps the hat had obstructed Hanzo’s view as well. Shimada seemed a deal more invested now. He paused to look Jesse over. “What’s your name again?”

“Jesse McCree.” The answer came with a dip of his head, a courtesy bow.

“That’s a fine name.” Hanzo grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the base, prying it out of Jesse’s hand. He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a shot. His eyes did not leave Jesse’s. “Tell me about your duel.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're reading this i love you & hope you have a great day week month year century

Hanzo bought out a room with enough money to buy him three weeks’ stay. With what money, Jesse wasn’t sure, but once coin was placed in his hand he didn’t really care where it came from. He wasn’t one to judge. 

It turned out that Shimada was actually good company. He was way smarter than the uneducated regulars who came in and out of his place on typical days, so holding a conversation was him was easy and even enjoyable.

Hanzo didn’t drink a lot, however, only towards the end of the evening before he went off to bed. This was probably to help him sleep. What was keeping him awake was another mystery.

Jesse was seated beside him at the bar. It was a slow night, and Jesse’s feet were killing him. He looked forward to taking his boots off at the end of the evening, but didn’t look forward to the smell.

“Have you heard about Talon’s deal with the Native Americans?” Hanzo asked, finishing up his first glass of bourbon of the night. “They signed a contract to let him build his railroad right through their land. Soon he’ll have a track going all the way across the state. Talk about a monopoly. That organization must be richer than god.”

Jesse’s stomach turned. He did not want to talk about Talon. “Of course I’ve heard about it. I hear about everything.”

Hanzo held his glass out for a refill. Jesse had the bottle near him and poured him a little more. “What’s with that face?”

Jesse hadn’t realized he’d been making a face, but he assumed it was probably one of disgust to match the feeling in his gut. “Talon is full of sons of bitches.”

“Talon is the richest company in the state,” Hanzo countered.

“Exactly. There’s no way to get to that point without making a few people angry. And making some enemies.”

Hanzo read the truth right off Jesse’s face. “ _You_ are their enemy? You, an inbred bartender in the middle of nowhere, whose biggest adversary is a rat infestation?” Hanzo chuckled halfheartedly. “Yeah, I bet you’ve got Talon scared out of its socks.”

As usual, Jesse didn’t let the baseless insults faze him. “You have no idea,” he said with a smirk.

Hanzo stared at him, waiting for the story to be told, but Jesse kept his mouth closed. This was not the kind of story you told to people you’d only known for a week, whether they were Jack Morrison’s friend or not. Keeping quiet was in the interest of everyone’s safety, especially Jesse’s. 

“You aren’t going to tell me?” Hanzo raised his glass to his lips so his next words were muffled but still audible. “I’m shocked. Usually the struggle is getting you to shut up.” He finished the last of his drink.

Jesse caved. There was no harm in telling Shimada the bare minimum. “Fine. Here’s the short version. I conned their director’s ass out of a lot of money. Naturally, he didn’t like that very much. So I got out of town. Rest is history.” 

Yeah, history, except Talon, and especially Gabriel Reyes, had a long memory and was still most definitely looking for Jesse. Luckily, at the time he’d scammed Reyes and his company, Jesse hadn’t been using his given name for several years, so there was no reason he would be looking for Jesse McCree specifically. As much as he hated using his family name, carrying the surname of dirt-poor wheat farmers was inconspicuous and safe.

Not to mention, Hanzo had been right - it was a good name, it had a nice ring to it. Jesse didn’t wear it with pride, but he liked the way it sounded off other people’s tongues, especially in bed, especially when they were on his knees for him.

“So you’re a con-man.” Hanzo didn’t sound entertained or surprised. “I read you for the type.”

“I was a con-man,” Jesse clarified. “A good one. After that deal went bad, I got the hell out of Amarillo, went to war, came here to Denton with you and Jack, and bought this bar, cash only.”

“You ran away. Why am I not surprised.”

“I made the smart choice. I saved my own life and turned over a new leaf.”

“What new leaf? You’re still an asshole, and every other sentence out of your mouth is still a lie.”

Jesse rubbed at his eyes, frustrated. He didn’t like losing his temper, so engaging in an exchange of insults was pointless. 

Since he wasn’t being answered, Hanzo didn’t speak anymore. He probably figured that he’d won, since he had gotten the last word.

Jesse looked at Hanzo with mild disdain. “You’re always so fuckin’ bitter.” He gestured to the empty bar. They were the only one’s sitting at it; the rest of the patrons were at tables around the room, most lined up along the back walls. “Your attitude is scarin’ my customers away.”

Hanzo barely had the patience to entertain an argument. “Maybe it’s your big mouth scaring them away.”

Jesse shook his head. “You are so negative. All the time. I’ve seen you every day for a week and I haven’t seen you smile even once. Do you like anything, at all?”

Either the question was hard for him to answer, or Hanzo was bored enough to give Jesse the silent treatment. Regardless, Jesse wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“Come on,” Jesse urged, nudging him with his elbow. “Tell me something you like.”

A moment of quiet lingered between them. Hanzo tossed his head back and finished his drink in one huge swallow. He made a face as it burned going down his throat, but recovered. He placed his empty glass down. Jesse made no move to refill it.

Hanzo’s eyes turned to him, black as ever. He looked at Jesse and said, dead serious, “I like brunettes.”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. That was the last thing he had ever thought to hear. He thought Hanzo might have misspoken, then thought he was joking, but he knew Hanzo was not the sort of man to make jokes. 

Hanzo angled his glass out to be refilled. He waited patiently, but Jesse made no move. Hanzo must have been drunk, he didn’t know what he was saying. That had to be it.

Jesse shook his head adamantly. “I’m cutting you off.”

For a second, Hanzo glared at him. Then he stood up from his seat. “Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll get some myself. I know you keep full bottles behind the bar.” He walked into the back room.

Jesse was almost too stunned to stop him. “You can’t go back there.” Hanzo didn’t stop walking. Jesse got up from his seat and stormed after him.

But the second he turned the corner, he was slammed against the wall, his back hitting it with such force that dishes rattled on a nearby drying rack and the back of Jesse’s head made a loud, painful thud against the wooden wall. “Son of a bitch-” he cussed.

Hanzo had his hands gripping Jesse’s flannel shirt and forcing him back, pinning him, but his angry eyes turned apologetic when he loosened his fists and worried, “Did that hurt? I didn’t mean to-"

“No.” Jesse shook his head. They were very close, their chests, stomachs, and hips fitting together like lock and key. Jesse relaxed. He leaned down as much as he could, to Hanzo’s height. “It didn’t hurt,” he whispered.

Hanzo kissed him. It was forceful and awkward but melted into bliss before either of them knew what they were doing.

For his size, Hanzo was strong, and Jesse let himself be pinned, succumbing to the strength and letting it all unfold. He was a good kisser, too. He was rigid and rough like Jesse had expected but it was really nice. Maybe this was Jesse needed, what they both needed, to be roughhoused and loved, to meet each other in a passionate wet mess.

Hanzo pulled his lips away and kept Jesse pinned against the wall. “Let’s go to your room.”

Though Jesse didn’t appear to have a choice in the matter, his answer was yes. He answered by kissing him again, full and hard on the mouth, moaning into him. He put his hands on Hanzo’s thin waist and pulled him close. The pain in the back of his head was still there but he stopped noticing. He didn’t know how or when they made it to the bedroom, but they somehow.

When the sun went down, the desert could drop to dangerous temperatures, but inside the stuffiness of Jesse’s tiny bedroom, heat rose like they were standing over a bonfire. 

They ripped each other’s clothes off, destroying the needlework of carefully-sewn buttons, grabbing fists of fabric, fumbling with ties and laces, tripping over piles of pants at their feet and not even bothering to remove their boots. The lust and desire were so strong, they could think of nothing else. Their minds were a haze; they needed to fuck. They wanted it more than anything.

It was hard to fuck a man and it required oily lubricant to get started. Jesse had a barely-used jar of it near his mattress, thankfully – a gift from Jack, who had gotten it from Ana, his partner, and the owner of the local whorehouse. Hanzo seemed more than familiar with it and spread his legs, so that Jesse didn’t have to pull his lips away and ask. Jesse fingered into his hole, around the rim and a touch inside, then coated his own cock with it. 

They had their arms around each other, their bodies close and inseparable, skin sticking together with sweat. Jesse put his dick in him and they became even closer, bodies moving together and breathing together, tensing up and relaxing together, breathing and moaning.

Jesse was completely inside him, up to his balls, when he asked, “What do you want to be?” He slid out and fucked back in, hard, forcing a convulsion beneath him. “With Morrison? With me?”

Hanzo clutched fistfuls of Jesse’s hair and panted into his ear, “We can be a triumvirate.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im rlly emo about these guys. i promise i'll get to some plot soon lol

Hanzo couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t anything new. He’d had trouble sleeping since he came to the United States at six years old. The war made it worse, because any sleep he did get involved nightmares. It did a number on his appearance and attitude, but he managed to live with it, as awful as it was.

Having someone to share a bed with made it better. There was something relaxing about falling asleep hearing someone breathing beside you, regardless that mattress space and blankets had to be sacrificed, and that Jesse snored like a bear, and that their bodies tangled together in the night when they held each other and they woke up drenched in sweat.

With Jesse, Hanzo slept soundly for the first time in years. He feared that if what they had ever stopped, Hanzo would never be able to close his eyes again.

Sleeping stopped being easy once Hanzo received orders from Jack Morrison. In fact, after hearing what he had to do, it was impossible to sleep at all.

Jesse stirred awake. He barely opened his eyes. The mattress was not big enough for both of them, so most of his body was on the ground when he turned over and mumbled, “What are you doing awake?”

Something about speaking at night demanded whisper-soft voices, so Hanzo spoke quietly. “Go back to sleep.”

Thankfully, McCree was likely too tired to protest. Hanzo remained on his back and stared at the ceiling, and he waited for Jesse’s breathing to level out again. But it didn’t. Jesse wasn’t falling back asleep, probably because of the heat, which, even at night, was unbearable. He had already kicked the blanket off across the room, but it wasn’t doing them any good.

If they weren’t going to sleep, Hanzo figured, they should at least do something. “Tell me a story.”

Jesse’s voice was still sleepy. “What kind?” he asked, before yawning.

“A true one.” Hanzo felt an intense wave of self-hate when he asked, “Tell me about yourself,” as innocently as he could.

Too drowsy to be alert, Jesse didn’t suspect a thing. He loved to talk about himself. “I was only in school long enough to learn the alphabet,” he explained. “Then my family moved to cheaper farmland. Turned out it was cheap because it was dry as bones. So I taught myself how to read. Read books and pamphlets on every shelf I could reach – there wasn’t much, but I read everything front to back until I could recite it from memory.” He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Left for the city when I was twelve. Mom was poppin’ out so many kids she hardly noticed I was gone. I got good at picking pockets and what money I didn’t spend on food, I bought books. Sometimes I skipped out on food.”

“You definitely don’t anymore.”

“I can afford it now,” Jesse countered, then realized he was being insulted. “Man, you’re mean. Why is that?” He chuckled a little, already over being offended. “Wait, let me guess: daddy hit you? Mommy ignored you?”

They had been together for weeks now, almost every night, and spending every single day together, and their lives were still secrets. Sometimes it was better that way, but not always. Hanzo shook his head. “None of that.”

“Who hurt you, then? Or were you born a bitter piece of shit?”

Hanzo didn’t answer him. He got sick of looking at the dark ceiling and just closed his eyes. It was futile. He could pretend to be sleeping, but Jesse would wait this out. He was a man who required answers. And Hanzo was the kind of man who gave none. It did a number on their trust complexes, but Hanzo figured that if he was allowed in this man’s bed, he at least trusted him to some degree. And that felt good.

Jesse flipped over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. He looked down at Hanzo through the dark. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Hanzo lied.

“The war’s over. You’re here now. You’re safe.” Jesse placed a hand on Hanzo’s chest and felt his heart beating gently through his ribs. “Do you feel safe?”

For some reason, this made Hanzo very sad. He opened his eyes. “I’m not sure if I can.” It was the first whole truth that had come out of his mouth in a long time. It felt liberating but it twisted his gut into a knot. 

The darkness made everything devoid of color, and Jesse’s eyes, brown by day, were grey in the night. “I know it’s hard. Telling you how to feel isn’t going to help you. These things take a long time. I can take care of you until then, I can help you along. If you let me.”

Hanzo felt like crying. His throat tightened on its own, as if it had invisible hands around it, choking him of life. Jesse had no fucking clue what he was getting into. He was an asshole, but he was a person Hanzo was starting to care about very much. For the first time, Hanzo felt cared for as well.

Before he could succumb to tears, Hanzo had to take action. He placed his hand atop of Jesse’s, grabbing it, and then dragging it down his own body, tracing Jesse’s palm and fingers from his chest, down his abdomen, and to his hips. Jesse reached for Hanzo’s cock on his own. 

“Put me back to sleep,” Hanzo demanded of him. His voice managed not to break.

Jesse was already obliging, taking Hanzo in his hands and teasing him with the tips of his fingers, trying to stroke him to stiffness. His hand went between Hanzo’s legs and felt his hole, still wet and abused from the last time Jesse had fucked him, which couldn’t have been more than a handful of hours ago. 

Unable to take any order without protest, Jesse smirked at Hanzo, who was already going stiff in his hand. “Would it kill you to ask nicely?

Instead of crying, Hanzo now found himself grinning. “Please fuck me.”

There was an affection in Jesse’s eyes clear even through the dark. “I wish you wouldn’t look so sad all the time. You have a nice smile.”

That hurt in a different way Hanzo had ever experienced before. It felt like Jesse had reached right into Hanzo’s chest and took his heart and was squeezing all the blood from it. But it wasn’t hurt, and it wasn’t pain. It was something different.

Vulnerability felt a lot a lot like fear. Maybe there was no difference. But those emotions didn’t crush him as much as the guilt did. It was too much at once.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo said to him, and it sounded like pleading. It spilled out of him again like he was vomiting up a hangover. “I’m sorry, Jesse.” He placed a hard kiss on Jesse’s lips, startling him, but they met each other in shadowed passion.

Jesse closed his eyes and kissed him back. He didn’t ask for or wonder about context, because he knew he would not receive any. He relaxed and opened his mouth and accepted Hanzo’s tongue inside, and accepted all of him, all his fears and apologies at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to add me on battlenet pc, i'm a diamond rank lucio/junk main @ SubwayWolf#1494


End file.
